


thesis on shattering

by sunflower_8



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Depression, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide attempt, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Suicidal Thoughts, vent - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:35:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22581850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflower_8/pseuds/sunflower_8
Summary: he doesn’t want to throw up, or sob, or live or exist or be in this world for one more fucking second because all he feels is pain and tears. his keratin nails on the metal hand grasps the bed sheets with a grip so strong that the fabric may rip.and if it rips-- he’s done. he gives up.(or, komaeda has a mental breakdown)
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 7
Kudos: 259





	thesis on shattering

**Author's Note:**

> serious trigger warning. while writing this i went a bit heavier on the suicide-related content than i initially intended. please be careful.
> 
> 1-800-273-8255 this is the suicide hotline. please be safe. i care.

_ i can’t do this today. _

he sits up, covering his mouth with a trembling hand as he cries. his body is shaking violently, and he feels bile rising up in his throat. he doesn’t want to throw up, or sob, or  _ live  _ or  _ exist  _ or  _ be in this world for one more fucking second  _ because all he feels is  _ pain  _ and  _ tears _ . his keratin nails on the metal hand grasps the bed sheets with a grip so strong that the fabric may rip.

and if it rips-- he’s  _ done _ . he gives up.

_ i can’t do this today…! _

when’s his luck going to strike? now? tomorrow? his wedding day? 

_ hah _ . like he’ll ever get married. 

it’s six pm. if his boyfriend is still out during a time of high traffic, then he might die. 

what good luck follows that? a hundred dollars? insurance? a refill of his meds--  _ fuck,  _ he’s going to hit withdrawal-- maybe he’ll finally be able to die? wouldn’t the best luck be the day people finally stop caring, so he can finally die, so he can finally stop caring about dying, so people stop dying? if hinata gets hit by a car, will he live?

no.

he won’t.

_ “what’s wrong?” _

_ what’s wrong is i’m fucking drowning and nobody can explain it, i know i’m  _ depressed  _ and lacking too many  _ brain functions  _ like happiness and reasoning, but nothing can excuse how much i want to sink into the mattress because i’m suffocating, i’m literally dying, why can’t anybody understand that i stopped breathing long ago? why are they still trying to get my money and my admission and my casket when i’m already dead? _

how plausible is it to lock yourself in a room for so long you become part of it? you decompose into the bones and dust and the carpet gets littered with your bone marrow and blood and stardust and you just dissolve. 

someday, a cynic will come to the town and doubt the skeptics and buy the mansion with a bedroom littered with memories and shattered glass and the trauma of a twenty four year old man who was a husk of a person and someday just self destructed, and the cynic would have to accept that the kitchen burns all their food and the dining table is always missing a chair and the secret room in the closet is always going to be locked--

and someday, they’ll just  _ accept  _ it.

but he doesn’t want to be a house. he wants to be a person, something that matters,  _ someone _ that matters. but he missed that chance when he was born. 

the nature versus nurture argument doesn’t exist for him. he was completely and utterly fucked from the very start. the world’s loving nurturing only taught him what his nature concealed expertly. 

_ you’re going to kill a lot of people, but it won’t be your fault. everyone you acquire, you will lose, because there will never be a promise you can keep. and even if you learn, your genetic code will teach you that you can’t sustain that, and you’ll end up dying someday alone in an entirely unspectacular way. that is the fate that will befall you. _

_ shh. shhh, don’t cry. it’s okay. you have to persevere. _

**_you don’t have any other choice._ **

when-- if, no  _ when _ , no  _ if _ \-- is he going to have a choice?

_ i’ve tried pills, i’ve tried windows, i’ve tried knives, i’ve tried fucking  _ everything,  _ but none of it works. i’m never going to die.  _

he’s never going to die, and that’s a death sentence in itself.

he crumbles back into a laying down position. there’s a weight in his chest, like his heart and organs and body has turned to lead, and he knows that there’s no chance he’s going to get up. he’s too heavy. he’s never been able to soar like other people (if he counts on his fingers, he can list approximately  _ nobody _ who actually soars). he just slips and then sinks and keeps sinking until 

if he can just fucking  _ dissociate  _ and project himself somewhere else, then maybe he could stop sinking.

_ for once in your life, be apathetic. why are you apathetic when your friend gets married but not now, not when it could actually save your ass? c’mon, send yourself somewhere else, somewhere that actually wants you. _

his sobs are getting louder, ripping at his throat. god, it hurts. his episodes usually end in an hour or two, but it’s been like this since hinata kissed him and gave him his meds before slipping on a coat and leaving. 

he hasn’t even eaten anything aside from a bowl of cereal, but the milk was lukewarm and the flakes were sugary and that’s  _ fine,  _ there’s nothing wrong with sugary cereal it’s what he prefers, even, but it was just  _ there  _ and tainting his tongue and soon all he tasted was cereal and something about losing that emptiness, that neutrality, sent him into a spiral.

if he had had a good morning, he would have gotten up and made himself some pancakes because he’d either end up with a house fire or burned skin but as long as hinata wasn’t home it wouldn’t really matter. 

he hasn’t eaten anything. he still tastes toothpaste and cereal. the fucking  _ cereal. _

he weakly pushes himself upright and reaches down to grab the trash can beside his bed. he retches. now, he isn’t stifling his sobs, and they ring out in the room loudly. it’s almost beautiful; there’s a tragedy in sitting in the center of a room that echoes wails and misery. pure misery, in its rawest form, is debilitating and beautiful in the way that nothing debilitating is. 

he’s always been a glass half full person. if you tilt the glass upside down, the water will drip and it’ll be pretty. 

_ i think i should die today. right now. _

he’s so tired, though. he could sleep. he totally could. 

he hits the pillow. he’s out.

\--

_ did you really think you would have a nice dream? no, you aren’t dumb. a dreamless night, maybe. did you really expect that? no. no. you aren’t going to relive the trauma of losing your parents. that’s boring. that’s bullshit. you relive that daily. no, tonight you are going to remember that you can’t escape, that sleeping isn’t going to solve this. how many times have you slept through an entire day, and hinata would have to be there when you finally woke up just so you didn’t sleep again? but you would anyway, wouldn’t you? how many times? how many times? too many. _

\--

he wakes up sweating. he checks the clock. it lasted fifteen minutes.

fifteen.

_ i can’t do this anymore.  _

he grabs the bottle of water hinata keeps on the bedside table. he throws it at a wall. he grabs pens and notepads and he even tries to pick up the lamp but the cord starts wrestling with him. at some point, he’s nearly on top of it and is whispering  _ please, please, you have to let go, you don’t understand you can’t just hold on because nobody does that when i need them to, please just let go stop fighting i can’t keep fighting anymore.  _ he throws off the sheets and he ends up on the floor, pressing a pillow over his ears.

_ children are laughing.  _

the metal hand breaks through the pillow, and he screams. if he crawls, he can get to a window. he can breathe fresh air. he can soar. 

_ i’m so sick of this. i thought i was getting better. i must be, i might be exaggerating, this doesn’t make sense i can’t be this bad i promised everyone i was going to be better and now i’m here having another breakdown and i’m going to end up in a hospital because it’s not like hinata will keep me here if he knows i’m capable of trying to do this and i’m not suicidal i’m not crazy i’m just tired and when people tell me this is what i should do, well, what do they expect? if i was only ever taught that i should die, why is everyone so fucking surprised when i try to go through with it?  _

he hears a door open. another door. another door-- why do they have so many fucking doors in their house? he screams again. he sobs. he starts retching again by the time the other person arrives. 

hands move the pillow away from his head and stroke his hair. someone’s saying his name but he can’t hear it. he feels it but he can’t hear it. he can’t understand it. an arm is around his waist. tight. supportive. he digs his nails into it. the person is talking. he is drowning. he hears nothing.

_ i’m sorry, i’m sorry you came home to this weren’t you going to get a promotion is this our punishment is this my luck becoming our luck and can you just let me die now because surely you’re beginning to understand where i’m going with this.  _

the hand in his hair moves to cup his cheek, tilting his chin up towards the person holding him. their mouth is moving but he can’t hear it. the person might be calling the police. the doctor. the entire fucking world to say  _ hey the person i love is actually a madman you were right i’m sorry i shouldn’t have doubted you, hinata.  _ he’s still crying and they’re shushing him.

“hey.” oh. oh, he  _ hears  _ that, he- “i’ve got you, lovely. can you list a couple things you see?”

_ i’m seeing the world shattering and everything i thought i was going to hide from and i can see your death, hinata, and it’s too much. _

hinata hums. it’s nervous. “i see a carpet and a window and a ceiling and my beautiful boyfriend and a lamp and a bed. do you see those things?”

_ your voice is earth-breaking.  _ he nods.

“what things can you feel? physically, i mean.”

he grazes his fingertips on the floor, immediately retracting them. he stares at them. they’re covered in mistakes and sins and blood. hinata grabs his hands anyway. 

hinata squeezes them. “okay. can you say a full word for me?”

_ fuck. no. can’t. love. talk. hold. hug. kiss. kill. knife. fire. luck. please. stop. end. you. me. _

“scared.” 

his voice is scratchy and ugly. it’s like his vocal chords have been flayed and struck and burned into ash and he’s choking on it. he’s choking. 

hinata kisses his forehead. “nothing’s going to happen to you. i’ll protect you.”

_ protect yourself, because my luck is going to kill you kill you you’re going to die aren’t you scared? aren’t you terrified because my luck will make you die i swear it. something will happen.  _

“you’ve got to keep breathing, baby. here, listen to my breathing and sync it. okay?”

he tries. he tries and he fails. he falls apart the second he opens his mouth because small sobs come out instead of words. hinata holds on to him and keeps breathing but he can’t match it he can’t do this. he just can’t. 

_ float. if you soar and float and disappear now, become dust and fade away, you won’t have to deal with this. become numb, dammit. breathe and be numb and  _ **_stop stop stop_ **

**_what the fuck are you_ ** **doing** **_why can’t you do this right why are you alive_ **

hinata tucks a hair behind his ear, caressing his cheek. “keep breathing. you’ve got this, angel, just please keep breathing. you’re safe.”

he coughs and chokes out, “h-hajime?”

“i’m here, i’m here. don’t worry, lovely. i’m here.”

“hajime-“

**_why?_ **

_ it’s as easy as a quick phone call to the therapist or grabbing meds or hushing me to bed or killing me or hurting me or destroying me fucking me whatever gets you to make me  _ **_stop breathing_ ** _. _

“i c-can’t do this anymore.”

and he breaks.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i hope you liked it. 
> 
> i’m sorry if it was bad. it’s not edited or anything. i just needed to vent.
> 
> (to clarify: i’m not in as bad of a place as komaeda is. i would not consider myself actively suicidal so please don’t worry)


End file.
